Ink
I left out one trick, which I used frequently, but less so as time went on and the substitute shortage meant I had less free time, and was often changing classrooms throughout the day.
In the early days of the pandemic, I began to practice my handwriting, inspired by a interesting book called "Calligraphy," written by a local author and artist named Susan Kapuscinski Gaylord. I have always had poor cursive, and her book, part guide, part memoir, part study, made me feel ashamed. It also pointed the way forward. So I bought some 19th century practice guides -- the major proponents of penmanship in those days were influenced by the Transcendentalists, and their ideas of standardization came from the observation of nature. This is why Spencerian handwriting has distinct, wave-like curves.
Along with this came an interest in fountain pens. I cannot afford good fountain pens, and the ones I found at local stationary shops were garbage, producing blotty, gnarled lines. Collecting fountain pens also meant collecting inks -- you can get excellent inks for not a lot of money. And these inks have evocative names: The Whiteness of the Whale, Golden Ivy, Najavo Turquoise, Teaberry Ice Cream, Polar Bear, Glistening Gluon. I even own a bottle of invisible ink -- it only shows up under black light.
And with more inks came more pens. Some were junk. Some, including some affordable types from China, were excellent, and I would order a few of them so that I could experiment with the various inks. At one point I had three different pens filled with three different earthy browns from the same manufacturer.
I mention this not because I was bringing these inks to school with me -- I would have stained my dress shirts. It is because the trick for making time pass involved copying out quotes from books I was reading.
I didn't want to look as though I was being lazy -- putting my feet up and reading a paperback thriller. I figured if I copied out quotes from my books, I would get something meaningful out the experience and it would also look as though I was somehow working. Read. Practice handwriting. Look busy.
No one ever seemed to notice, which suggests it was an effective strategy.
The sources my quotes were selected with some care. Often, I was pulling from pessimistic and misanthropic philosophy. What if a sheet of my scrawlings fell out of my bag. Out of context, would it seem like a madman's yammerings?
I drew heavily from anthologies of Stoic, Epicurian, Cynic, and Taoist philosophers, as well as from the works of Schopenhauer and Emil Cioran (had to be careful with that one). I also copied bits of classical Chinese poetry, which I would often try to imitate later. (These are embarrassing to read. I still have them, only because I haven't bothered to throw them out.)
Over time, I began to write haiku as well, and even published a few on a prominent local news and culture blog.
Slowing down and working on lettering can make hours pass quickly. My handwriting is still rough, but better. Now and then, without effort, I make a perfect f or r. I still struggle with capital D's and I's, and with overall problems of consistency. But I get better, and the process made me happy. An overused expression applies: it is mediative.
What I think many people fail to realize about, say, pessimistic philosophy, or the works of the Stoics, is that they act like a tonic. When you begin with the assumption that life is suffering, or random, or unfair, you can breathe easy and not set up unrealistic expectations. You can then proceed to finds ways or systems of achieving serenity despite this, be it through art, meditation, charitable works, immersion in nature, physical culture, or, of course the pleasures of philosophy itself -- thoughts at play and at work. Many philosophers speak of the process in terms of light -- not just in the enlightenment sense -- but in the sense of physical lightness -- of weight being lifted.
So it was that I would write and think and smile at my gloomy thoughts. Before I knew it, the bell would sound, and I would often sit alone in the classroom and savor the silence after the students had left, no need to rush home.
